


Quicksilver Moonlight

by SaraBahama



Category: Stargate SG-1, Stargate Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, F/M, Family, Leadership is tough, Love, Post-Battle, Sam is stronger than she looks, Space Battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:49:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraBahama/pseuds/SaraBahama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He held her against him, pressing a kiss into her hair and accepting what they both knew was a lie. Time wears down many things, even the sharp edge of pain. Post-SGU episode "Air" and the Lucian Alliance attack on Icarus Base.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quicksilver Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Set after SGU’s “Air.” If you haven’t seen it, watching the short scene here:   
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqZdeQCfCbM, should be sufficient. 
> 
> A/N #2: Secret Santa gift for the AMAZING Skydiver at the Gateworld Forum.   
>  Betaed by the ever tolerant (and lovely) hedwig.

Silver light filtered in through the open curtain: that was Sam’s thing…she loved to sleep in the pool of quicksilver moonlight that puddled on the bed, he supposed that it appealed to the astrophysicist in her; it played hell with his sleeping patterns, though –he felt too open, exposed…like he needed to get under cover of the tree line or get his back against some rocky outcropping. He huffed half of a wry chuckle at himself: some things would never change -they were too ingrained into his identity…they felt physical, like they were woven into his very skin. He flexed his hand in the moonlight, looking intently at it as though he could see a manifestation of the feeling. 

The covers rustled beside him and he reached instinctively for the figure huddled beneath, but she was just shifting position, snuggling a little closer. Sometimes there were nightmares…not often, but sometimes intense. They were both marked; marked by command, by authority –by the choices that invariably took other people’s lives. He swallowed against the suddenly dry sensation in his throat. He relived again the 23 minutes of terror: 

_Telemetry relayed in audio only, a signal so clear that they could hear the pops and fizzles of damaged circuits in the background. He wasn’t sure that he wanted a signal that clear. His heart skipped a beat as he listened to the strained chatter between The Hammond and Icarus Base._

_“Who have we got, Colonel? Lucian Alliance?” The voice must belong to Colonel Young –tense, urgent, needing information._

_“That would be my guess. They haven't introduced themselves.” Sam’s voice was tight, but she was trying for a little wry humor. She’d been around him too long._

_“They started shooting the minute they came out of hyperspace. Our shields are holding, but we're not the target.”_

_Thank God for small favors._

_“What's heading our way?” Young asked._

 _“A whole squadron of gliders and a troop transport. We've cut them down some, but the rest will be on your doorstep in less than three minutes,” she reported grimly._

He slid a hand around to the small of her back, carefully avoiding the ticklish spots. Her breathing hitched once, but she slept on. 

He had no doubts about her command abilities –they had faced equally dire combat situations together in the past, but she was outmanned, if not outgunned. He had exchanged worried glances with Walter Harriman as they listened to the brusque comm exchanges between The Hammond and Icarus base, and wondered how in the hell the Lucian Alliance even gotten wind of the project in the first place…one of Homeworld Security’s most closely guarded secrets. His blood had run cold as things had gone from bad to worse: 

_“Colonel! I’m detecting a massive buildup of energy from the planet!”  
_

_“Recall our fighters. Radio Col. Telford. He's got two minutes to get his people aboard before we jump to hyperspace.” Sam called out the orders stridently, her voice brittle._

The radio silence that followed this burst of chatter had been the longest minutes of his life. He knew from experience that a planetary explosion would scour the surrounding space, breaching and burning the hulls of the ships. He had waited and listened as Walter hovered, offering cups of coffee and his own brand of silent support. When communication had finally been restored, he had practically run to the monitor. 

He rolled a strand of her long dark hair between his fingers and watched her eyes flutter beneath her closed lids. 

She had lost twelve. 

Twelve letters that began _“I deeply regret to inform you…”_ followed by a cleverly constructed lie; they couldn’t even give her the solace of telling the family of the fallen the complete truth. Earth’s real space program didn’t officially exist. 

Most of the MIA had been recovered, wounded but alive, adrift in their fighters. They had treated hypothermia, concussions, even a compound fracture, but they had survived. 

The personnel missing from inside the bunker were accounted for: he had told her about the contact with Dr. Rush. He was livid at Rush for dragging a bunch of scientists and civilians into an unknown gate location, but at least Sam didn’t have their loss weighing on her shoulders. 

The inquiry had been rough on her: she had already questioned her own choices and how making alternative decisions might have saved the crew that had been lost. In the end, they had decided that she had acted in the best interests of her ship and crew, conducted the standard after-action reviews, and sent them home on 2 weeks leave. 

He closed his eyes, painfully aware that there were other crew member’s families bereft, and feeling mildly guilty over the relief he felt that she hadn’t been one of them. He huffed out the breath he was holding and opened his eyes. Blue eyes, washed nearly colorless in the frosty moonlight, regarded him solemnly. 

“Hey,” she murmured. 

“Hey yourself,” he responded lightly. 

She slipped an arm around his waist and pulled herself more tightly against him under the covers. 

“You ok?” The question seemed insufficient in the face of all that had happened, but he was ill-equipped to offer much else in the way of counseling. 

She squeezed him more tightly and breathed quietly into his chest, “Yeahsureyabetcha.” 

He held her against him, pressing a kiss into her hair and accepting what they both knew was a lie. Time wears down many things, even the sharp edge of pain. 

She wasn’t okay…not yet. And that was okay.


End file.
